


Good is Not Soft

by karategal



Series: A Hobbit in the Lonely Mountain [10]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Assassination Plot(s), Dwarf Culture & Customs, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Hobbit Culture, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Political Alliances, Protective Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karategal/pseuds/karategal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soft, meek, fussy, and scared of their own shadows—those were words that people often used to describe hobbits. Even after riddling with Smaug the Golden and saving the King Under the Mountain's life, dwarves, elves, and men alike still underestimate Bilbo Baggins' capabilities outside the kitchen or a negotiation hall. And Bilbo would agree to a certain extent; he doesn't like violence, not in the slightest.</p><p>However, if someone threatens his nephews in any way? Well, then he'll track the bastards down and <em>destroy</em> them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or actors from _The Hobbit_. Everything belongs to the great and powerful J.R.R. Tolkien.

The dominant races of Middle-Earth had a terrible habit of underestimating hobbits.

It seemed to be a universal assumption by everyone and their grandmother that Bilbo was the weakest member of Erebor's royal family. Perhaps it was the leaf-like ears or the love for cooking or the natural aversion to all things bloody, but dwarves, elves, and men alike always approached Thorin first instead of his smaller yet more diplomatic and politically savvy husband. Balin hadn't been surprised by this, and had simply given Bilbo an apologetic smile when he'd been overlooked yet again by a lord and lady at Open Court. Thankfully, their local allies were far more open-minded and discerning, with Bard, Thranduil, and the skin-changers often making it clear that they preferred to work with the Lonely Mountain's least confrontational royal.

However, no one in the kingdom or beyond appeared to grasp just how dangerous Bilbo Baggins could be when the right motivation presented itself. And present itself it did on a warm Trewsday evening in the heart of summer.

Bilbo had been browsing through the guild halls, more than a little curious about the conflicts that had been raging for several weeks down there. Apparently, the Carpenter Guild had encroached on a small set of forges that belonged to the Jewelry Guild and this had caused a minor dispute to erupt between them, which had then pulled both the Locksmith and Armorer Guilds in as well. Of course, this eventually dragged the Blacksmith and Shoemaker and Stonemason Guilds into the now out of control fray, punches and axes and giant rocks flying between each guild's designated territories.

It was a miracle that Dori hadn't killed the whole lot of them yet.

Because of this violent chaos, Bilbo had chosen to wear his magic ring while visiting the guild halls that afternoon, easily slipping between dwarves and forges and the battle zones that had consumed Erebor's busiest corridors. He scarcely had reason to use it nowadays, but the trinket still had its advantages when circumstance called for it. And sometimes Bilbo just enjoyed watching his subjects in their natural habitat with no bowing or brown-nosing or nervous twittering involved; a happily crafting dwarf was truly a remarkable sight to behold, their concentration and skill far beyond anything that Bilbo had witnessed back in the Shire.

Well, except for gardening and cooking. Hobbits ruled those particular crafts with an iron skillet. And Bilbo was contemplating what to make for supper that evening when he heard a hushed voice to his left side, just barely hidden behind a series of screens that separated the Weaver and Tanner Guilds. Normally, he would have just walked on by without a second thought, but the sound of his oldest nephew's title was enough to make Bilbo pause for a moment.

"—have to wait until we know the prince's schedule."

"And I said that I have that situation under control," snapped a second voice. "The lad's almost always alone after his Hevensday mining inspections. I've had him watched for five weeks now, and he never has anyone with him. Sits alone up on the far end of the battlements. Or wanders down to the mushroom patches."

"We'll have to move quickly. He's armed to the teeth."

"Being armed doesn't do much good against poisons, now does it?"

"I suppose not."

Bilbo stood perfectly still as the two dwarves emerged from their alcove and headed into the forges, neither of them seeming to notice that anything was amiss or that they had been overheard. Of course, their rendezvous location had been particularly well-hidden and out of the way—Bilbo also had a feeling that they'd been communicating in Iglishmêk as well—so it wasn't surprising that the would-be assassins had thought themselves alone. Invisibility tended to help one's spying abilities, too.

"We'll see about that," whispered the hobbit.

For the next three days, Bilbo tailed the two dwarves whenever the opportunity presented itself, eyes and ears making sure that the assassination plot he'd overheard was in fact authentic and being put into motion. He discovered that their names were Kogor and Grorf, the former an Ironfist from the Mountains of Rhûn and the latter a Blacklock from Nârad-Dûm in the far south. The first one didn't surprise Bilbo too much given their past issues with Ironfists, but he was genuinely puzzled by the second dwarf. As far as the hobbit knew, Erebor was on good terms with the dwarves of the Yellow Mountains, even establishing a few trade agreements last year with them. Distance was a huge hindrance, of course, but Bilbo wasn't aware of animosity existing between Durin's and Var's Folk.

He followed them down to the guild forges each morning and then to the communal dining halls for lunch, easily moving through the crowds while also keeping an ear out for any type of subversive rumors. Kogor and Grorf weren't the most discreet of dwarves, but they never spoke of their treacherous plans where anybody could hear them. Well, anybody who wasn't invisible, that is.

"What about his food schedule?" asked Kogor on the second evening. They were hidden in a different alcove this time, one that was nestled between two tannery shops. "We don't want to draw too much attention and I've already got what we need to do this."

Grorf huffed with frustration. "He never eats in the main halls."

"Must be the halfling. Most of Oakenshield's Company seems to dine separate from the main population."

"Rather conceited if you ask me."

"What about this?"

Bilbo could hear the Blacklock huff and say, "Won't work. The King's hound never wanders far during stuff like that. He'll chop your head off before you even get within five feet of the brats. And I don't trust those mongrels, either."

"I already checked," said Kogor. "As of Highday, they'll be out on patrol for the rest of the week."

"Not the big one. She'll be here."

It was silent for a minute or so after that, both dwarves speaking in even quieter whispers. Bilbo edged a little closer from where he'd been hiding behind a nearby screen, his feet just barely skimming the floors. The last thing he needed was to accidentally kick a rock and make the dwarves button up completely; with his luck, they'd assume Bilbo was a skin-changer and disappear into the mines for their bi-weekly rendezvous.

"We'll have to report something soon," whispered Kogor. "It's only a matter of time before he grows impatient, especially with the season nearing its end."

"Then he can do it himself if he wants it done quicker. I'm not risking any more than I have to for this."

"But what about—"

And then the fourteenth bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and beginning of the work day's second half. Bilbo felt like punching the wall, positive that he had been about to hear something important. Neither dwarf revealed much during their meetings, rarely mentioning names, locations, or saying anything vital outside of Iglishmêk, which Bilbo was usually unable to see. Paranoia and secrecy ran deep in the dwarven race.

"I'll find you later in the usual spot. Bring the tools with you. And don't dally in the dining halls again."

Grorf just huffed in reply. Friendly chap, that one.

The hobbit made excuses whenever questions were asked of his whereabouts, claiming to be working on yet another project in the Deep Archives. And it wasn't like Bilbo was lying, either; he was compiling a stack of lost documents that would allow him to recreate a more thorough map of Endor's far eastern plains. He was just putting that project off for the next couple days, far too busy tracking the dwarves who had dared to threaten his eldest nephew's life.

"Who are you working for?" Bilbo had wondered. "This whole thing's too delicate for those simpletons to have planned it."

He also arranged for Fíli and Kíli to accompany him to Dale on the third day, claiming that the princes' increasingly busy schedules were causing Bilbo to dearly miss his older nephews and the quality time they used to spend together. This wasn't an outright lie, either; Bilbo was genuinely upset by how little he'd seen of the boys in recent months, which was attributable to their royal training regimens under Balin and Dís. With this explanation and a particularly sad-looking pout, Bilbo had easily persuaded his husband to allow Fíli and Kíli a short break with their smaller uncle.

"Surely you've cast a spell over these," said Fíli, mouth stuffed to bursting with strawberry cream cake. "There's no other way it could be so addictive. I swear, I would give up the throne if I could eat this delicious piece of heaven forever."

Bilbo flicked him in the nose and said, "Shameless flatterer."

"It's not flattery if it's true," Kíli pointed out. "And everyone knows that your food's the best in the kingdom."

"Oh Eru, save me from brown-nosing nephews."

They were seated in the royal gardens now, just returned from Dale and yet another round of negotiations with Bard about this year's crop yields. Fíli and Kíli had even tried to help this time around, haggling for prices in a dwarven way that Bilbo would never be wholly comfortable with. Thankfully, Bard didn't seem to mind and was quite willing to humor the princes when they attempted to haggle for lower tariffs on wheat and rye. It was kinda endearing, even if Balin and Glóin would've been horrified by the prices they had settled on. But Bilbo was proud of them for trying and that's all that mattered.

"It's not fair that Fíli didn't have to do his mining inspections this week," pouted Kíli, who was now sprawled on the ground beside Bilbo's carrot patches. "You should have to come with me tomorrow, eh? Torment the foremen and drive Uncle up a mine shaft."

"Behave yourself, Kíli."

"What? I wasn't actually planning on doing anything."

"You know I don't like fibbing, zundushith," warned the hobbit. He plucked a radish out of the ground and examined it. "Such behavior never ends well for naughty fauntlings _or_ the occasional dwarf."

"Am I being threatened? Because I feel like I'm being threatened here."

Bilbo nudged him with a toe and said, "Allow your brother an afternoon of respite, both from duty and your antics. Or would you prefer to accept the title of crown prince and all of the duties that come along with it?"

"No thanks, I'm okay with being the spare."

"I thought so."

They spent the next hour in companionable silence, Fíli and Kíli both lounging about in the evening sun while Bilbo tended to his rapidly expanding gardens, more than a little excited to see the wide variety of plants that were capable of growing in Erebor's soil. Hamfast's tips had worked after all, and Bilbo now had patches of carrots, cabbage, dill, lavender, parsley, potatoes, chamomile, mint, sweet peppers, lemon basil, green beans, thyme, grapes, cucumbers, asparagus, hibiscus, and, of course, his prized tomatoes. Numerous berry bushes wrapped around the garden's grand pillars and towering walls, each of them interspersed among a gorgeous array of flowers such as violets, peonies, citrus blossoms, Johnny jump ups, marigolds, and honeysuckle.

But his real prizes were—

"Hey! Put that down this instant," Bilbo scolded. "I told you those aren't ripe for eating yet."

Kíli stared at the pear. "Looks ripe to me."

"Simpletons."

After receiving a sound whack to the head, Kíli scurried off to join his brother near one of the small streams that weaved through the gardens, each of them cut in geometric shapes that Thorin had designed himself. Four apple and six pear trees now decorated Bilbo's terraces, the former being an anniversary gift from his husband while the latter were a tribute from Dorwinion dignitaries. His mushroom patches were a glorious sight as well, safely nestled within the mountain's halls and growing with abundance, more than enough to provide for his horde of hungry dwarves.

"These may be ripe enough for eating," said Bilbo, turning a small bunch of cherry tomatoes to and fro. "And they'll eat it if they know what's good for them, too."

It was just after the eighteenth bell when Thorin arrived, a jabbering Frodo cradled snugly in his arms and a grumbly Dwalin, Glóin, and Bifur at his heels. The hobbit was brushing through his oldest nephew's hair at that point, idly instructing Kíli on the correct way to determine if a carrot was ready to be harvested or not. Fíli purred under Bilbo's ministrations, all but snuggling into his uncle's pudgy stomach. Nothing relaxed a dwarf more than having their hair brushed and fussed over, although Kíli was an unusual exception.

"Enjoy your day, ghivashel?"

Bilbo happily returned his husband's kiss of greeting and said, "Very much so. Crop yields appear to have increased, prices are a bit lower, and the boys actually behaved themselves."

"I assumed as much from the hair brushing."

"He ate the last of his vanilla cupcakes several nights ago, so I had to resort to the brush," reasoned Bilbo. He scratched his fingers over Fíli's scalp, laughing at the groan and purr his nephew released. "Plus, it makes him so docile and adorable. Your sister's a genius."

"Uncle Bilbo has magic fingers."

Thorin smirked at this comment and drawled, "Oh, you don't know the half of it, irakdashat."

"Ewww! Uncle! That's gross!"

"You shouldn't make such comments then," said the King. He gave Frodo a kiss on the head, smiling down at the faunt who was still jabbering to Bifur about giant crickets and their ickiness. "You'll corrupt your cousin and Bilbo and I will be having none of that."

"Ugh, why is it always me?"

That particular statement made Bilbo tense up, shoulders hunching and hands instinctively moving downwards to shield his nephew from an invisible harm. Thorin raised an inquisitive brow at this, but Fíli remained unawares and simply basked in what he assumed was a warm hug from his hobbit-y uncle, shamelessly soaking up what attention Bilbo was willing to give. At least Kíli was distracted and not trying to fight his brother for Bilbo's affections again.

"Who's hungry for some eggplant casserole?"

"Blah!"

It was on the fourth day that he approached Nori with his findings, easily locating Erebor's spymaster with the help of two young minions. All it took was a brief description for Nori to launch his own investigation, disappearing into the mountain's dark tunnels like some kind of monstrous, three-eared bat. Bilbo just stood there for a little while, not quite sure what to do with himself.

"Well, I'd say it's about time for supper."

And so Bilbo went off and kidnapped Fíli from his duties for the second time that week, explaining to Dwalin and his guards that he needed his nephew's help in the gardens and that they could beat the snot out of each other without the crown prince's presence. All Dwalin did was raise a suspicious eyebrow and follow them up to the royal wing, eyes darting back and forth like he expected an army of goblins to leap out and attack his self-proclaimed charges. If he was being truthful, Bilbo was somewhat relieved to have the giant dwarf with them.

Spying on Kogor and Grorf had made him quite antsy and nervous when visible and alone. Attempting anything against the Consort or prince while Dwalin was nearby would result in an inevitable beheading. Possible evisceration, too.

"I need some help with these trellises," said Bilbo when they arrived in his gardens. "Aye, those ones. Just bring them right over here and..."

Nori appeared out of nowhere four hours later, sauntering along Bilbo's streams and fountains like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fíli and Dwalin were still trying to pin the trellises to the cliff side walls, both of them too stubborn to give up while also cursing the very existence of roses and clematis and any other climbing flower they could think of.

Wait until they saw the wisteria he was planning for next summer, thought Bilbo with an evil smirk.

"I have returned."

Bilbo snorted and said, "I can see that. So, what tidings do you bring?"

"Mayhem and bloodshed."

"I was afraid of that." Bilbo rubbed at his eyes and took a deep breath. "Will you be able to handle it?"

"That question offends me."

With another deep sigh, Bilbo led Nori over to his favorite couch, not missing the bemused look that Dwalin shot their way. Avoiding him would be impossible once the trellis was complete; Dwalin was a suspicious bastard at best and always stuck his nose into the royal family's business when it came to safety. And unfortunately for Bilbo, he and Frodo were the most likely receivers of that overprotective instinct nowadays.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"It appears that we've got ourselves an interloper in His Majesty's Court," said Nori. He grabbed a handful of grapes and flopped onto the couch. "A minor lord from the Iron Hills who has quite the interesting background. Longbeard father, Blacklock mother, and Ironfist grandfather on the maternal side. Also the youngest of four children, if my sources are to be believed."

"All brothers?"

Nori nodded and said, "Has quite the inferiority complex, too. He was apparently passed over for several titles, although I'll have to dig into that a bit more. I need more than five hours to work my magic, I'll have you know."

"Will you be needing my assistance?"

"You do realize," said Nori around a mouthful of grapes, "That His Royal Gruffness will have my head if anything happens to you."

"Since when have you cared what Thorin thinks?"

"In case you haven't noticed, your husband has a bit of a temper. Kinda possesses a bad habit of flying up the mine shaft when his dear hobbits are involved." Nori examined a caterpillar that had made itself at home on his shoulder. "And I like my head where it is, thank you very much. Plus, from the looks of it, this dwarf and his co-conspirators aren't too far into the game yet."

"And that's a good thing?"

Nori nodded, lips curved into a shit-eating grin as Dwalin approached them. It was quite tempting to make a comment, but Bilbo restrained himself and watched as Nori and Dwalin started their usual bickering match. He patted the empty space beside him when Fíli walked over, several leaves and twigs sticking out of the lad's golden hair. Bilbo didn't hesitate to remedy this, fingers easily plucking the leftover foliage from Fíli's head, mind now preoccupied with all of the ways he could make those dwarves wish that they'd never been born.

Threatening Bilbo's nephew was the stupidest thing they could have ever done.

About an hour later, Bilbo pulled Nori off to the side, flicking Dwalin in the ear when he continued to rant about the thief's sticky fingers. Honestly, those two just needed to find a closet and work their problems out, Bilbo thought. Their constant bickering and arguing and name-calling was just annoying at this point, especially since they couldn't even be in the same room without fighting anymore. Of course, Dori might kill Dwalin and throw away the body, but Bilbo was certain that he could find his husband a new best friend. Maybe...

Or maybe not. Thorin could be difficult to deal with sometimes. Kinda pig-headed if you asked him.

"Nori?"

The spymaster turned around and actually blinked in surprise when Bilbo slipped a small knife into his left hand, eyes darting between his Consort and the pointy weapon that said Consort shouldn't have felt the need to carry on him. It appeared to be one of Thorin's, too. Nori would recognize the Anvil of Durin anywhere. He wondered if the hobbit had swiped it this morning from Thorin's own person. Oh, the possibilities...

"And this is for?"

"If they come anywhere near my boys," said Bilbo, face grim and eyes hard as stone, "Kill them."

"My pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sent a very compelling request by a longtime reader to write a short story that shows off Bilbo's badassitude. I don't really participate in the fandom itself, so I'm not too familiar with things that may be going on in it, but she said that it needs more badass, equal-to-Thorin-in-his-own-hobbity-way-Bilbo, so here's my contribution to the cause, I guess. Bilbo doesn't appreciate people threatening his boys, to say the least.


	2. Chapter II

Bilbo Baggins was a pathetic sap, he really was.

For the past three days, Erebor's Consort had been effectively pampering his oldest nephews, dragging them away from their duties at a moment's notice, convincing Dwalin not to beat them into bloody pulps, and cooking all of their meals himself. It was exhausting work, but Nori had advised him to make the boys scarce while he investigated a series of new leads, so Bilbo had done whatever he could to keep Fíli and Kíli out of the public eye. Not that the boys were complaining, of course, but Thorin was starting to get suspicious and Dís would probably corner him within the next couple hours. His sister-in-law was terrifying when she put her mind to it.

He was braiding Fíli's disastrous mop of hair when Dís breezed into his and Thorin's bedchambers, their youngest nephew jabbering about his day with Donel and Dwina and the new toys that Bofur had made for them. A small replica of Beorn was waving about in the lad's hand, yet another addition to Frodo's ridiculous pile of toys and anything else that the Company could think of. Bilbo had scolded them countless times for spoiling him.

Thorin and Dwalin were by far the worst of them, too.

With a tired sigh, the princess sat on the bed and said, "I wonder sometimes what would happen if I simply let the guilds blow each other to pieces. Maybe then I'd get a few moments of peace."

"Difficult morning?"

"That's an understatement." She turned to Fíli and gave the prince a wane smile. "Could you be a dear, rûzud-ê, and take Frodo to play in his room or the gardens? I have to speak with your uncle about the latest feud between the Carpenter and Jewelry Guilds."

"Of course," Fíli picked up his little cousin and made a grand show of admiring Frodo's newest toy, "We can play dungeons and dragons again. Try out Bofur's latest creations for him, right? Did Dori throw anyone through a door again?"

"Aye. Both masters this time, too."

The crown prince snickered and said, "Any new marriage proposals? Master Zrukir's become quite bold in the last couple weeks."

"Only one, thank Mahâl."

"A giant smith came into the teashop last Trewsday," said Frodo, "And he tried to touch Uncle Dori's braids, so he threw him into a wall! I don't understand why they keep trying. Uncle Dori doesn't like being...objectified."

"You heard that from Ori, didn't you?"

Frodo nodded and looked proud of himself. All of them had a good chuckle at that, and then Fíli disappeared into the gardens, throwing his little cousin high into the air when they were just outside the doors. Bilbo didn't hesitate to yell at the dwarf, either; they had picked up the habit from Dwalin and their uncle, which meant that he had to withhold dessert from the older dwarves before moving on to the young ones. But honestly, tossing a small child into the air like a sack of potatoes? No wonder Fíli and Kíli were fuzzy in the head.

"I'll kick Dwalin in the shin when I see him later," assured Dís. "Now, get over here and enlighten me about whatever is churning around in that curly head of yours. I recognize an anxious hobbit when I see one, and you're as twitchy as a dwarf before their first inking."

"Am I truly that obvious?"

"No, you're actually not," said the princess with a grin, "But I've grown used to your behaviors and habits—and I like to think myself quite observant, too—so it wasn't that difficult to determine that something was afoot."

"An understatement, I fear."

Dís leaned forward, chin reaching in her folded hands. "Tell me about it."

It took about a half-hour for Bilbo to explain everything that had happened in the last week and Dís was scowling and growling and stomping off by the end of it, grumbling about traitors and Nori and how she was going to strangle the spymaster when she finally found him. Bilbo didn't even attempt to stop her because an angry Dís was a dangerous Dís and he wasn't stupid enough to cross her at a time like this. Besides, she'd reacted exactly as Bilbo had expected, which made the hobbit smirk in an entirely undignified manner.

With a whistle and hop in his step, Bilbo headed out to the gardens to keep his nephews company. It was a lovely day, after all.

He spotted Fíli and Frodo standing beside the elaborate fish pond that Thorin and the Company had designed for him last spring, both of them throwing small pieces of seed and wheat kernels into the water for Bilbo's goldfish to munch on. Donel had appeared from somewhere, red hair in complete disarray with twigs and leaves and who knows what else sticking out of it.

"Are you overfeeding Bingo again?"

"He's almost as hungry as you are," said Fíli, petting the large fish with a gentle finger. "Not quite as cuddly, though. Sometimes tries to nibble on my toes. I think he'd eat them if he could."

"You have sticks in your hair, Donel."

"I got stuck in the berry bushes. They attacked me!" The little dwarf was unrepentant, bouncing from rock to rock with his toy Smaug and little sword. "Can dragons live in water? Or would that put out their fire bellies."

Bilbo sat beside his nephews and said, "I'm not sure, but it wouldn't surprise me if they can. Dragons are an ancient and powerful race and not all breathe fire, like the wingless dragons in the Withered Heath."

"So they're backwards then," reasoned the dwarfling. "Bofur says that there are ice dragons in the northern mountains."

"Currin says so, too!"

"Well, I've read some accounts on them as well," Bilbo admitted. "I doubt we'll have to worry about them, though. Currin believes that so long as no one disturbs them or enters the Barl Syrnac, then they'll stay up there and far away from us."

"Let's hope so," said Fíli. "If I never see another dragon again, it'll be too soon."

More than eager to get away from that topic of conversation, Bilbo clapped his hands and said, "What do you boys want for dinner?"

It was late in the evening before Thorin returned to their chambers, Balin and Dwalin nipping at his heels with a pile of papers that Bilbo wasn't looking forward to sorting through. They were probably from the guilds, requesting more funds from the treasury for their budgets while also accusing every other guild within a half mile vicinity of stealing their tools or territory.

"Long afternoon?" asked Bilbo from his place in front of the outdoor fire pit. "You look a little frazzled, my love."

"We're taking a vacation to the Shire next season and I'm coming with you," said Thorin. He whacked Dwalin in the head, who had been poking him in the side just for the hell of it. "Dís and Dori can deal with the insane farce that is Erebor's guilds. I'm going to throw half of them into the River Running at this rate. It's like they live to make my life difficult."

"Funny, I thought that's what you said about us."

"Aye, that is true," said the King, eyes glinting as he walked over to stand next to Bilbo and Fíli. "But you have the grave misfortune of being my own flesh and blood, so I can drag you around by your braids and ears if you irritate me one too many times. Isn't that right?"

The King reached out and made a grab for Fíli's left ear, but instead ended up getting his own fingers smacked by Bilbo and his trusty ladle. With another wag of his preferred weapon, Bilbo went back to the large pot of creamy mushroom soup that was resting on the garden table, dishing out three bowls of soup for their newest arrivals. A small flock of ravens were seated on some nearby benches too, squawking and cawing as they fought over the bits of meat that Bilbo had left out for them.

"Behave yourself, Thorin. And no talking shop at the dinner table."

"It's a garden table." Dwalin flinched at the glare that comment earned him, slowly creeping into a chair that sat near his bowl of mushroom soup. "And perfectly good for dinner time, too. Mighty fine table, very sturdy."

"Uh huh."

Bilbo motioned for Thorin and Balin to sit as well, neither dwarf being stupid enough to argue with a hobbit and his designated mealtimes. Two slices of cheese and garlic crack bread were placed beside each bowl, which brought an excited smile to everyone's faces; Bilbo's breads were infamous and quite a few drunken brawls had broken out over them. Unfortunately, the second side-dish didn't win as many awards as the first, all of the dwarves eying it with a level of suspicion that made Bilbo want to whack them over the head.

Again.

"If you don't eat your greens," warned Bilbo, "Then there will be no dessert for any of you. Well, except for Frodo, of course."

The little faunt smiled up at him, mouth filled to bursting with chunks of cheesy broccoli. A second piece was speared on the child's fork, held out expectantly in front of his larger uncle's face. Thorin eyed the small green vegetable with an upturned nostril, clearly stuck between a rock and a possibility of upsetting his darling Frodo. The Dwarf-King was grizzled and stoic and terribly blunt and willing to tell almost anyone exactly what he thought of them and their stupid ideas...

Except when his youngest nephew was concerned.

It took every ounce of Bilbo's admirable self-control to keep from laughing at Thorin's constipated face, especially as Frodo waved the broccoli right under his uncle's nose to further emphasize just how serious eating your greens was. Hobbits ate a lot of vegetables and fruits, which every parent in the Shire knew was absolutely essential to a growing fauntling, both in the physical and mental sense. It was a dietary necessity that Bilbo had relentlessly instilled into his smallest nephew and all of the dwarves, rebuking them at every turn with terrible stories of hobbits who hadn't received a healthy and balanced diet as young faunts. The merest thought of Frodo being malnourished and hollow-boned had been enough to send Bombur and half the Company racing to Dale's markets, arms completely laden with potatoes, lettuce, carrots, and any other green foods they could find upon their return.

"Do you want your bones to fall apart, Uncle Thorin?"

With a groan of frustration, the King leaned forward and opened his mouth and went, "Ahhhhh..."

"Good uncle!"

Frodo shoved it straight into Thorin's mouth with an evil grin, laughing and giggling at the disgruntled look that the dwarf gave him. Dwalin and Balin didn't even try to hide their own snickers, although both stopped laughing when Frodo held up a piece of cheesy broccoli for each of them to eat, too. All it took was a firm shake of the fork to make both sons of Fundin comply and take their greens without complaint.

It didn't stop Dwalin from wrinkling his nose with disgust, though.

"Always nice to know who really runs things around here," said Fíli with a snort. He ate a piece of broccoli, which earned him an affectionate pat on the head from Bilbo. "If you want to get anything done in the Lonely Mountain, you have to consult someone with fuzzy feet and a mean right hook. Well, with a ladle or frying pan, that is. No wonder some of the nobles are terrified."

Bilbo stiffened a bit at that, but any inquires that Thorin might have made about his husband's odd behavior were halted by a loud knock at the receiving room doors. With a shrug of his shoulders, Dwalin stood up and went to answer it, whispers giving way to shouts within less than a minute. The royal couple shared a glance and decided to investigate whatever had Dwalin thrown into a tizzy, signalling for Fíli and Balin to remain with the children.

"What's going on?" demanded the King. "I specifically stated that I did not wish to be disturbed any more tonight."

"There's been an incident, Your Majesty."

"If another excavation site has collapsed, then allow me a few moments to rip my beard off," grumbled Thorin, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Bofur's head may very well explode if he has to manage another disaster like last month's tunnel collapses."

The courier bowed again and said, "It's neither of those, Your Majesty."

"Dáin didn't threaten to disembowel another one of the ironsmiths again, did he? Although I won't have much pity to give, I'll admit. That whole lot should really know better than to compare their work to Gella's at this point."

"I don't think so, Your Majesty."

The young courier didn't even flinch under Thorin's irritated glare; he'd been employed by the royal family for several years now and was quite familiar with behaviors that should actually be worried about. Besides, Bilbo liked the lad and made sure to slip him biscuits whenever Bodl ran errands for him. The hobbit suspected that his husband had grown quite fond of the soft-spoken yet blunt dwarf, too.

"Out with it then."

"A dispute of coin was reported three hours ago in the Mercantile District, my King. According to all witness accounts, it was nothing more than the usual disagreement of project funds. The parties involved were separated and told to submit a petition of complaint for review, specifically for this coming week's Open Court. It was only a half hour ago that Lord Gri was found dead in his workshop."

"Lord Gri?"

"Aye, my King. It was his wife and brother who discovered him."

Dwalin pulled at his beard in thought and eventually said, "Lord Gri's always been quite the disagreeable sort, even back in the days of Thrór's reign. Kept most of his complaints quiet, but you could see the dissent on his face often enough."

These words were met with a loud sigh from Thorin, who was now scrubbing at his face with both hands. Bilbo reached out and took his hand, well aware of just how much of a headache this incident would be. Lord Gri had strong connections to the Blue Mountains and the Iron Hills, having been a member of both courts in recent years. He had claimed it was due to familial business purposes; after all, why should he have to give up business ventures that had been established in the Iron Hills after Erebor's fall? It had rubbed Bilbo a little wrong at the time, and now he knew why, too.

"Cause of death?"

"Healer Una believes that it was blunt force trauma to the head and a knife in the back. Directly along the spinal column."

"Well, that escalated quickly," Bilbo mumbled to himself. He had some suspicions about the timing and circumstance, but Bilbo thought it prudent to remain mum on that subject for the moment. "Are there any suspects? Possible witnesses?"

"None at this point, Your Grace."

"Keep me appraised of the situation as it develops," said Thorin. He was already reaching for his surcoat, a tilt of his head signalling for Balin and Dwalin to come along with him. "We'll convene with the guards assigned to that specific area and see what they have to say about it. Could you possibly put our meals in the oven to warm, âzyungel? We won't be gone more than an hour."

"Of course."

Bilbo kissed his husband on the cheek, giving both Dwalin and Bodl a reassuring pat on the shoulder before they left, too. It was always frustrating to have his family chased away from meals, but duties tended to make themselves known at the most inopportune moments. And by the time anyone returned later in the evening, Frodo and Donel were bathed and tucked away in bed, two deerhounds sleeping in front of the faunt's balcony doors. Fíli and Kíli had both turned in as well, although Bilbo had a feeling that they'd snuck off to their workshops again. Upon arrival last week, the Lord of the Iron Hills had gifted the boys with a large batch of rare ores, which had sent Erebor's princes into a flurry of childlike excitement.

Dragging them out of the royal forges had been a dreadful challenge, to say the last.

"Any news on Lord Gri?"

"Oh, no need to worry about him," said a booming voice, "He's quite dead. Pissed off one too many business partners, I fear."

"Dáin?"

With a bounce in his step, the Dwarf-Lord came to sit beside Bilbo in front of the fireplace, large hands full of guild reports that he'd obviously been working on with his youngest cousin. An exchange of apprentices and journeymen was being proposed for next year and Dáin was spearheading the project, claiming that his guilds had become far too insular with no other dwarven settlements around to trade and exchange with. It was an adventurous and grand proposal, but Bilbo was certain that Dáin and Thorin could make it work.

"Just finished doling out retribution on those impetuous guilds of yours," said Dáin with a grin. "They're more civil than my own, but still a pit of vipers if I've ever seen them. Took us hours to sort out the broken noses."

"Was Dís involved in this, too?"

"Of course! Our dearest Dís would never miss such a fine opportunity to knock someone back into place."

"Says the dwarf I punched in the head."

"It was a fine punch, too."

Dís made a beeline for the kitchen and the supper that Bilbo had left out for her. Two bowls still sat warm in the oven for Dwalin and Thorin, but Bilbo could easily whip up a crude meal for Dáin as well. The Dwarf-Lord looked quite famished and—

"So, how're the lads doing? I haven't seen them all week!"

Bilbo was about to respond when he noticed Dáin cleaning his axe near the brightest section of the fireplace. A series of red spots glinted along the sharpened edges, barely visible in the firelight. A few years ago, Bilbo would have thought nothing of it. Weapons were often streaked in blood, right? But he'd learned much since then, and Bilbo was well aware of how much meticulous care and attention his friends and family gave to their beloved weapons. Dried blood could do damage to a weapon if left on too long, and it was rare for the hobbit to ever see a weapon flecked with blood outside of battle anymore.

And this was why he eyed Dáin liked one would a wolf, possibilities bouncing around inside his head. Dáin almost rivaled Dwalin in his obsession with keeping his dear hammers and axes clean, so Bilbo couldn't be faulted for his suspicions at this point.

"If you were practicing in the training halls," hedged Bilbo, "Then said lads will be sorely disappointed that you excluded them."

"Ah! I would never," said Dáin with mock-offense. "You know how much I enjoy sparring with those fool-headed miscreants. Sweet lil' Frodo served me up on a platter when I visited last spring. Couldn't walk straight for a week, I swear."

"He's smaller than your foot, Dáin."

"And yet his bites are almost as vicious as a warg's. Hobbits must be bred for chewing on things. It's why you eat so much."

Bilbo just rolled his eyes and went back to work on his latest map. It was coming along quite nicely, even though he'd taken several days off to deal with certain things. The Deep Archives were overflowing with documents that could be restored and used for the betterment of Erebor; many potential trade routes had been abandoned or lost after Smaug's arrival, but Bilbo was sure that they would be able to revive some of them.

A comfortable silence descended over the room, Bilbo working on his map while Dáin cleaned his axe and Dís rummaged around the kitchen. It probably would have continued on if Dáin hadn't released a loud groan and stretched into several goofy positions, arms and back cracking in what sounded like a terribly painful manner. Bilbo was just about to ask if he'd injured himself when Dáin flopped forward with a thunderous sigh and strapped the axe to his back. By the Valar, the red-haired dwarf was loud even when he stretched!

"Tell the lads that I'll be in the training hall at the eleventh bell tomorrow," said Dáin. He was rummaging around his pocket now. "I've barely seen hide nor hair of them this whole week, so it'll be a welcome match. Oh, and before I forget, here's this."

"Ah!"

It was a _finger!_ For the second time in his life, a finger had been dropped in Bilbo's lap! By the Green Lady, what was it with dwarves and their ridiculous penchant for chopping off fingers and tongues!

"Didn't know what you'd want," said the dwarf. "But Dís took the braid and your spymaster didn't seem to care either way, so I reckoned a finger would be as good as anything else. Oh, and here's his knife, you might wanna give it back to him."

A small knife was laid down beside the severed finger on the floor, deceptive in every way except for the tiny knot that wove around the hilt. Oh yes, that was most definitely one of Nori's, and it looked like it was one of Dwalin's make, too. Bilbo wondered what had happened to the knife he'd given Nori last week. With all of the _gifts_ going around, maybe it would be presented to Thorin, well used and covered in blood?

"Well, I'm off for the night. Remind the boys about tomorrow. I expect some good matches from them."

"Of course..."

And with that said, Dáin exited the King's chambers with a whistle and a hop in his step, far more jolly than anyone who'd just killed another person should be. Not that Bilbo had an ounce of remorse for the fool who'd threatened his beloved nephews, but it was still a disturbing sight. The sound of clinking plates finally drug Bilbo out of the funk he'd fallen into, his sister-in-law now eating a slice of blueberry pie that she'd found hidden in the cupboards.

"I'm assuming you planned all of this?"

Dís was utterly unrepentant when she said, "Only part of it. Nori was just doing his job and Dáin was more than a little ticked off to hear that one of his own lords was planning to assassinate his oldest nephew. Besides, you're the one who started it."

"Thorin doesn't know?"

"Not yet," said Dís with an unconcerned shrug. "He'll probably hear Nori's report in the morning."

"Can't say I'm sorry about it, though."

"Me neither."

And with that, they each retreated to their own rooms and prepared for bed, secure in the fact that their boys were safe from harm. For the time being, that is. Bilbo may abhor violence, but when someone tried to hurt his nephews? Well, all niceties flew out the window then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the chopped off fingers have returned! Dain and Dis are totally in league with each other; scheming cousins who enjoy manipulating everyone around them. Nori's just slinking around in the background like usual, doing Bilbo's bidding so the hobbit doesn't have to get his hands dirty. Touching Fili, Kili, or Frodo = death by whichever Durin gets to you first. And in case you haven't noticed, I tend to be a fan of political intrigue and the real-life nastiness of royal courts and kingdoms, so expect more of that in the future.
> 
> Note: I'll include a very short epilogue sometime this week.


	3. Chapter III

"I'm not happy with you right now, in case you were wondering."

"You do realize I did it for your own good?"

"That doesn't make me feel any better nor absolve you of the unnecessary deception."

"Unnecessary, you say?"

"What did you think I was going to do?" Thorin demanded. "Throw them into the mine shafts? Chop their heads off?"

"Fingers or tongues, I'd reckon."

The dwarf went quiet at that, arms crossed and a disgruntled pout stretching across his features. Fíli and Kíli were in a training arena beneath the balcony that King and Consort stood upon, weapons raised as Dáin continued to batter down on their combined defenses. As skilled as Thorin's nephews were on the battlefield, the sheer might and speed of Dáin's assaults were just too much for the lads, and Bilbo winced when Kíli went tumbling out of the arena like a ragdoll. His older brother wasn't far behind though, so at least the archer was in good company.

"Will this become a common occurrence?" said Thorin a few minutes later. "Am I not to be trusted with the safety of my own kin?"

"Oh, you know it's nothing like that."

Bilbo reached out and took his husband's hand, kissing the ornate ring of gold, emeralds, and acorns that symbolized their marriage. It was a gesture that was more dwarven than hobbit, but Bilbo had seen Glóin and Donel's father employ it numerous times when their wives were upset and had unknowingly picked up the practice several years ago. Thorin preferred to kiss Bilbo's forehead instead, although that was likely due to the fixation he had with his husband's shorter stature and unruly curls.

"I was planning to tell you, once Nori had done his own investigations," said Bilbo, small frame easily snuggling into Thorin's side. "Or he would have told you. It could've gone either way, to be truthful. But then Dís interrogated me and the boys spent the whole day in the gardens and by the time you would've returned alone, well, the plot had already been done with."

"You could've told me sooner."

"And have you go running off half-cocked with Dwalin and his bloodthirsty axes at your back?" Bilbo shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think so. That would've been a diplomatic nightmare."

"I would not have reacted like that."

Bilbo gave him a sidelong look. "You are a brilliant strategist in many ways, my love, but when it comes to our boys? Not in the slightest. Your protective instincts jump into overdrive and all of the lovely sensibility that you employ in Open Court flies out the window. You would've hunted down the dwarves I'd been following and took their fingers off without a second thought."

"My sister did the same, if I heard correctly."

"Only after Nori had his way with them," said the hobbit. "And she was far more sneaky about it. Apparently, Lord Gri and his co-conspirators had ruffled quite a few feathers in recent years, so there will be plenty of blame and suspicions to go around. No one will suspect either of the true punishers, and that's for the best. We'd have quite the kerfuffle on our hands otherwise."

And speaking of Nori, Bilbo could see two of his minions in the general vicinity, blending in with the crowds that milled around Erebor's training halls. He knew that they were under strict orders to keep a close eye on the royals and prevent anyone unknown from getting near them. Bilbo and Thorin wouldn't be having this conversation if the minions weren't ensuring their complete privacy.

"Has his wife gone running to her father yet?"

"Aye, and Lord Grinin will be quite the headache for the next few months, I can assure you." Bilbo rubbed at his eyebrows, already dreading the temper tantrums and paranoid ramblings of the ancient dwarf lord. "Nori already has several minions assigned to watching him and the rest of Lord Gri's family. None of them have been an asset or supporter of your reign, anyways."

"It's always nice to know that at least a fourth of my own council would like to see me and my heirs dead."

"We'll weed them out. Eventually."

Thorin snorted and said, "A rather ambitious project that you've personally taken on in recent days, I see."

"He'd still be alive if he hadn't threatened Fíli."

Bilbo said this in a matter-of-fact tone, because it was entirely true. Violence was something that hobbits avoided at all costs, and Bilbo often complained about the rough and tumble ways in which dwarves handled disputes. It also upset Frodo, which meant that the Company and others who were close to the royal family now tried to restrain themselves whenever possible. However, all of this pacifistic reasoning vanished into thin air when the princes or Frodo were threatened, and Bilbo was more than willing to use any means, be they direct or indirect, to kill those who tried to harm his nephews.

"I still would've preferred if you'd told me," said Thorin after a few moments of silence. "Then I could've at least been there to take a tongue or finger off myself. Maybe a braid or two also."

"Are you jealous of Dís and Dáin?"

The stink-face that Bilbo received for that comment was truly epic; no one could pull off the grumpy-and-constipated glare-of-doom better than Thorin Oakenshield. In Bilbo's opinion, it was one of his best traits.

"Awww, my poor darling feels left out and—"

"Uncle!"

Neither royal was able to move an inch before a small blur collided with Thorin's legs, practically climbing straight up the dwarf's body until an arm reached out to trap the over-sized leech. Frodo grinned up at them, bushy-tailed and missing all of his front teeth. The King's milk bracelet was filling up more and more with each month that passed, lines of white milk teeth sewn into the colorful marriage adornment. It was one of Thorin's most prized possessions and he enjoyed showing it off to anyone who would look or listen.

"Fíli's going to the market and said I could come! Can I go? Please, please, please?!"

"What about your lessons?"

The faunt pouted at this and said, "They'll still be there when we get back. I'll do them then, I promise."

"I don't know, what do you think, Thorin?"

"Well, I suppose it can wait a little bit, although Balin prefers he finish his letters and arithmetic before high noon," drawled the King. He winked at his cousin and older nephews as they approached. "And we wouldn't want to cross Balin, so I'm not sure..."

"But he's in Council today!" argued Frodo, who was all but perched on Thorin's shoulder at this point. "He won't even know it. Besides, you're the King and you can tell anyone what to do and they have to do it."

"Oh really?" said Bilbo with a raised eyebrow. "This is news to me."

"Except you. And Aunt Dís."

The hobbit was busy fussing over a darkening bruise on Kíli's cheek, poking and probing and grabbing his nephew's head so he could get a closer look. The younger prince stopped struggling after a while, well aware that all attempts of escape were futile. Bilbo would be done when Bilbo felt he was done, and no amount of Kíli's whining and whimpering would speed up that process.

"I should certainly hope so."

After smiling weakly at his husband, Thorin released a much put-upon sigh and said, "Well, I suppose it would not be too unreasonable, so long as Balin doesn't find out. What do you think, Bilbo?"

"Bring me back three of Master Punir's potato casseroles and you've got yourself a deal."

"Yes!"

"And don't wander off like you did last time," scolded the King. He leaned down and kissed his nephew's cheeks before lightly tapping their foreheads together. "Mind what your cousins say, too. They're not as stupid as you might think."

"Hey!

"I resent that remark!"

"Don't worry, I won't wander off like that _ever_ again." He gave Thorin another kiss for good measure. "I promise!"

Frodo jumped from his uncle's arms to Fíli's, jabbering nonstop about the newest toys that Bifur would be selling today and which stall might carry those strange blue fruits from Near and Far Harad. It took less than seven seconds for the princes and their squirmy cargo to disappear out the nearest door, more than a little leery that Thorin or Bilbo would change their minds about postponing Frodo's lessons.

"What are you smirking about, cousin?"

"It appears that I'll be having some apple pie this evening after all," said the red-haired dwarf. "And now that that's settled, I've a couple boars to attend, preferably before they rip down their pens in hunger."

"The stable master should be able to handle them."

"Not Byna. Oh no, she'll bite your hand off if you're not Helm or myself." Dáin looked entirely too proud of this fact, even giving them a knowing wink. "Vicious sow, that one. Tried to take my fingers off just last week. Afternoon, laddies!"

Dáin walked off with a bounce in his step, easily dodging the bustle of couriers that were now moving through the upper-level balconies. The eleventh bell was nearing and many of those in the training halls would soon have to report to their afternoon shifts or appointments. Because of this, the royal couple decided that now would probably be a good time to make themselves scarce, if only so that Thorin wouldn't be bombarded by couriers and their overzealous employers. Lord Gri's death was a popular topic and Bilbo really didn't wish to discuss it with their Council members again.

"Did you hear that? He was bragging!"

"What are you on about?" asked Bilbo as they left the training hall. "He was just complaining about that murderous sow of his."

"And he referenced the finger."

"Hammers of Mahâl, not again! Would you like to have it? Because I think your sister put it in one of my garden pots. My poor mints..."

"It'll serve as good fertilizer."

Bilbo glared at him and said, "You just want to have your own finger."

"Or tongue."

"Well, you'll just have to pay closer attention and find your own specimen next time. I work in the shadows, not out in the open like you fool-headed dwarves."

"Hmmm, I think I _like_ this side of you, âzyungel. So vicious..."

The Dwarf-King's smirk was unrepentant as he leaned down to give Bilbo a fine display of tongue. Not that the hobbit was complaining, of course, but the morbidness of their conversation made it a little less than ideal. Well, until Thorin did that lovely nipping thing with his teeth, and oh, that tongue was just sinful and dextrous and should not be allowed in public!

"Alright, alright, enough of that," gasped Bilbo. "I'll tell you next time, I promise, now will you please take your hand off my bum."

"But it's such a delicious bum."

"That's all well and good, but if you want to claim the fingers or tongues of our nephews' next batch of would-be assassins, then you'll kindly stop groping me in public. And yes, the other bum counts, too."

"You ruin all my fun, ghivashel."

"No, what I do is keep scandal, assassination, and diplomatic collapse from overshadowing your reign. Not to mention ensuring that only good propaganda is created and circulated in regards to your prankster heirs. You can thank me later."

"Or I could thank you now."

If Bilbo didn't much object to being pulled into a spacious broom closet, then that was only for him and Thorin to know about. After all, what good was being the King and Consort Under the Mountain if they didn't connect a few sexual exploits to their wonderfully descriptive titles, right?

Dwalin wasn't too amused when he found them, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is Thorin's reaction! Not explosive or anything, just kinda disappointed that he wasn't able to claim a finger or tongue for himself. A certain dwarf will be giving the mint bushes some extra love and care from now on, too. And poor Dwalin has a bad record with broom closets, doesn't he?


End file.
